


Where my demons hide

by RachelSadie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mentions of abuse and torture, Porn with Feelings, Post-War, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelSadie/pseuds/RachelSadie
Summary: The eighth year feels wrong. Something, Someone, is missing from the halls of Hogwarts, and nothing about it feels right. Harry, with a nudge from Pansy, knows what he has to do to fix it. The last thing he expected though, was to be trapped in Malfoy Manor. Again.This house has a strange sense of Humor.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 207
Collections: Game of Drarry: Monthly Ficlet Challenge





	Where my demons hide

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Definitelymurdery for being my Beta for this. It wouldn't be 1/2 as good without you. 
> 
> For A game of Drarry Monthly Challenge!  
> January Trope: Snowed In  
> Prompt Card Use: A tempest: rain, thunder, and lightning

The halls of Hogwarts seemed too quiet these days. Truth be told, Hogwarts was the last place that Harry wanted to be anymore. Not when everything still felt so broken and wrong. The castle itself had been rebuilt after months of volunteers performing extraordinary magic within these walls. Sometimes, however, it felt like the castle hadn’t healed emotionally—like the very walls wept for the death and destruction they had seen. There was a sadness in this place now, and Harry wasn’t sure how long it would take to fade. If it ever would. Coming back for an eighth year felt like a grand mistake after everything he had gone through, but he wanted to finish school. He still had dreams of being an Auror, and he needed NEWTs to do that. Harry only wished that more people had come back. There were so few of them in the Eighth year that they were all sharing one common room, with only the dormitories themselves separated by house. 

As he entered the common room, Harry saw Pansy Parkinson sitting with her legs crossed under her on the large leather couch. She seemed to be helping Hannah Abbott with her spellwork, which was a strange sight to see. Since the end of the war, it felt like most of the returning Slytherins were making an effort to prove themselves to be “good.” Harry was, for the most part, ready to accept that they had all just been frightened children, many of whom were pressured by parents and very old belief systems. Pansy Parkinson, despite her pug-like face and her ill-timed suggestion that they turn him over, was actually quite a talented witch. Blaise Zabini, though arrogant as hell, was very funny when he wasn’t being nasty. Even Millicent Bullstrode seemed to have some positive qualities. Her potion work was astounding, and she was incredibly willing to help younger students—strange, as Harry would never have thought of her as the type who liked children. 

Seeing the Slytherins acclimating themselves caused Harry a strange sadness; a hollow, empty feeling in his chest as if something were missing. He spent many months fighting the feeling, until he finally had to admit to himself that in a strange, very twisted way, he was missing Draco Malfoy. For all that he had been through, Malfoy had always been a constant part of Harry’s life at Hogwarts. He’d been an annoying bug in Harry’s ear for the better part of seven years, and being entirely free of him was not as exhilarating as Harry had expected it to be. It was a bit sad and almost lonely, instead. Too many people put him too high up on a pedestal these days; he was coming to realize that on some level, he needed Malfoy to knock him down a peg or two now and again. 

Thinking about it made him both sad and angry, sometimes, a little confused too. He should have felt relieved to be free of the snark and drama that accompanied Malfoy’s presence in his life. He wished he was here, though. Every time he watched the Slytherins, or noticed how much they had changed, he wondered what Malfoy would be like if he were here. Would he be teaching Quidditch to young students? He would have made an absolutely excellent assistant to Slughorn this year, as brilliant with potions as he was. There were so many options, and Harry had played every one of them over and over in his head. It was as if he had watched a thousand movies, all starring Draco Malfoy. Sometimes he was an Auror, sometimes a Professor, and sometimes he had a nice office job at the Ministry. Harry enjoyed picturing him this way. Seeing Malfoy as someone who was good, someone with a bright future, made him feel like maybe some good had managed to come from the war. 

Harry made himself comfortable in an armchair, staring absently into the fire. He did that a lot these days. He often got lost in his own thoughts, whatever they may be. Some nights it was simply an amorphous grief; he certainly had enough of it. So many had died in the war—many that he blamed himself for, and many that had been personal losses. Fred Weasley and Remus Lupin took up a large amount of his mental capacity where grief was concerned. He heard Fred laughing in his mind all the time, but it was never quite the right sound. Knowing he would never hear it sound the way it should again made his stomach twist. Seven years had passed since he’d met the twins, and he’d loved Fred like a brother. Remus had been the closest thing to a father Harry had really known. He’d had Sirius for such a short time, but not Remus; Remus had taken Harry under his wing at thirteen years old and protected him, guided him, and loved him ever since. They were gone now. Tonight though, his thoughts were revolving almost completely around Malfoy. 

He was startled when an owl rapped on the window beside him, even more so when he realized the owl belonged to Malfoy himself. How strange that he’d turn up in this moment when Harry was thinking of his owner. Opening the window, Harry took the letter and gave the bird a pat on the head before he flew off. It wasn’t for him of course, but he was very tempted to open it anyways. 

“Excuse you, Potter, but I do believe that envelope is addressed to me, is it not?” Pansy was looking down at him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her hair had grown, and it fell over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that Harry actually found made her quite pretty. He felt guilty for ever calling her pug-faced. He looked to the letter, to Malfoy’s delicate and precise script, taking it in before handing it to her and nodded wordlessly. She took it without much more of a fuss, curling herself onto the couch again to read it, oblivious to Harry’s eyes boring into her the entire time. 

Long moments went by as he studied her face, wishing he could read it better. Finally, the tension in his own chest built itself up so that high he felt like he might explode. He had to know something, anything, about what was going on with Malfoy these days. Sure, maybe he was obsessed, but after their long history of keeping tabs on each other, the absence was too powerful for him to continue to ignore. 

“Is he okay, Pansy?” He blurted out. He was shocked at himself, and certain that his face matched the flabbergasted way that he felt at his own outburst. For all her condescending moments and bitter attitudes, Pansy only raised an eyebrow at him as if she were amused. 

“I was under the impression that you had seen him more recently than I had, Potter.” She sat up a little straighter and folded the letter up in her lap, studying Harry for a moment. He was confused. The last he’d seen him had been at his trial. Surely Pansy had seen him since. “I’ve not seen him in months. I get these owls every few weeks to let me know that he hasn’t withered away all alone in that horrid place. Otherwise, I’m not entirely sure. I can only assume he’s just fine unless he tells me he’s otherwise.” Harry was still confused, tilting his head like a deer in the headlights of a muggle car. “I thought you might have seen him since the trial, considering the things you said about him. I thought maybe you would reach out. I can't blame you for not, though. Doubtful that he would, either, after everything.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Harry was almost defensive—mostly because he had no idea what she was on about. Should he have reached out? Had he missed something? He had, in fact, spoken at Malfoy’s trial. He’d told the Wizengamot in no uncertain terms that Draco Malfoy had saved his life, and that without him, Voldemort would have prevailed. He’d openly told them about their history and the fact that Harry himself had nearly killed Malfoy the year before, and yet, Malfoy had still risked his life to protect Harry’s. What felt like the whole of the Wizarding World had heard him talk about Malfoy: his bravery, and his potential as a member of society. 

“Harry Potter.” Pansy was scolding now, and Harry wasn’t sure he liked how much her voice sounded like Hermione’s in that moment. It made him shift uncomfortably, like a scorned child. “The things you said about him at his trial led us all to believe that there was more to the story than you simply defending an innocent. Like, that there might be some emotional connection between you?” She was studying him for a reaction, and all he could give was confusion. An emotional connection? Between himself and Malfoy? “You said things that attested to his character as a good person when he’s only ever been awful to you. You defended his actions as being those of a scared child, even after he nearly killed one of your friends. You spoke so highly of him, that many of us wondered what you had up your sleeve at the time.” Her eyes rested on him - like they were looking through him and into his soul. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but whatever it was, she was searching intently. 

“All I did was tell the truth!” Harry’s jaw had dropped as she spoke, and he was desperately trying to right his face. 

“Yes, and the fact that you view everything you said as ‘the truth’ only reinforces the idea that maybe you saw something more in him than just a childhood rival. Please, Potter; you’re the savior of the Wizarding World. You can't possibly be as dense as you seem sometimes. If you are, it’s a wonder we’ve all survived this far.” Pansy threw her hands up in frustration, as if the fact that he didn’t understand was a personal offence to her. Harry’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed. He had no idea what to make of everything that she was saying. He wasn’t entirely sure he really got what she was saying to begin with. Was she insinuating that they were friends? Or that there was something deeper? He didn’t dare ask for clarification. 

“Right then. Thank you, Pansy, I’ll...think on that. Will you excuse me?” He had to get away. He had to find a safe place to just be on his own and try to process everything. He escaped the common room with no one stopping him on his way. Thank Merlin for evening classes keeping most of the older students out of their common rooms until it was near time for bed. Walking the hallways, he had time to ruminate on Pansy’s words. He dissected them in his head—did he have a more personal connection to Malfoy than even he, himself, realized?

Suddenly, it was as if a lightbulb had clicked on in his head. He did have a connection. Of course he had an emotional connection to Malfoy. They had been staple parts of each other’s lives for so many years, often bordering on obsessed with each other’s every move. Many of Harry’s nights had been spent thinking about what Malfoy was doing, and it was only now that he realized that not much had really changed. The one thing that had changed, though, was that now, Harry wanted him back. If anything were suddenly clear to Harry, it was that this was wrong without him. Hogwarts without Malfoy was empty, and if Harry was going to complete his Eighth year, he wanted Draco Malfoy here to see him do it. 

It took him little time to collect himself and head off the grounds as quickly as he could. The benefit of being Harry Potter these days was that no one bothered to question where he went or when. As he crossed into Hogsmeade, he immediately Apparated, leaving only a loud cracking sound behind him. 

He reappeared in front of a great stone home. It was bigger than any home he had ever seen before. He’d been inside it for a short period, of course, but this was the first time he had ever seen it, or even considered what it looked like, from the outside. There was a very large metal gate with a letter M emblazoned onto it, glittering in the autumn air. As he walked up to it, a voice came, as if from gate itself. 

“Identification,” the bored voice drawled. 

“Uhm, hi. Harry Potter.” There was a long pause, and amidst it, the wind seemed, eerily, to pick up. It just added to the portentous scene, making Harry all the more uncomfortable, before the gates finally opened and allowed him entrance to the grounds of Malfoy Manor. He followed a long dark pathway up to the door. On each side, there were beautiful flower beds, surrounded by intricate iron rails adorned with long ivy. A house elf opened the manor door as he approached. 

“In, in you come before it starts. Mr. Potter must enter before the wind and the rain, yes he must.” The elf chattered on, but Harry was barely listening. Malfoy was standing at the base of an obscenely large cascading staircase. He was thinner than Harry remembered him, but less pale than the last time they’d met. His hair was unkempt, and looked more like a blond version of Harry’s always-messy hair than the pristine locks Malfoy usually sported. Harry didn’t speak, instead using the time and the silence to search Malfoy’s face and eyes. They were tired, and a darker shade of grey than he thought they used to be. 

“Come back to Hogwarts,” he blurted out without any kind of preface or greeting. The elf closed the door behind him just as he heard it start to rain. “Come back and finish school. You’re allowed, they let you off, didn’t they?” He knew that they had. Malfoy had been found innocent of war crimes, as he had only been a child under the influence of far greater magic and pressure. 

“What? Are you finding that your overly inflated ego is getting too big for your scarred head? Need me to come and kick you back down to reality?” Harry knew that the snark should light a fire in him but instead, it made him smile. Malfoy was right though, that was exactly what Harry wanted. 

“My ego is fine you absolutely loathsome prat.” He rolled his eyes. “I only thought that maybe you might not want to ruin your future by being a tosser and not finishing school. Although I guess that an education only matters to someone who had a brain to begin with.” Malfoy was smirking at Harry the entire time he ranted. 

“Why would I bother to go back there?” he asked curiously. He shook his head. “That place holds horrendous memories.” 

“And this place doesn’t?” Harry saw Malfoy tense and instantly regretted his words. This was the only time he’d been in the manor other than when he was captured during the war, and it looked much different than he remembered. It was more inviting without Voldemort living within these walls. Unsurprisingly, it felt homier without Bellatrix Lestrange torturing his best friend. 

“You know nothing about the horrors of this place Potter. The things you witnessed were only the icing on a huge, nightmarish cake. But this is my home, so compartmentalizing those things is necessary. You might understand such a concept if you weren’t the prince of teenage angst.” His mouth was still curved upward in a smirk, and for the first time, Harry noticed that he looked older now. Like a grown man who had lived through a war. There was a loud noise outside and Harry jumped, drawing his wand reflexively. “Do you plan to hex the thunder, Potter?” Malfoy drawled amusedly. “By all means, proceed; I just want to watch.”

“This was a mistake.” Harry grumbled under his breath, turning to leave, but the elf stopped him in his tracks. “No, absolutely not, Harry Potter may not leave in the wind and the rain. Harry Potter must stay here; Malfoy Manor says it’s so.” As if the world itself needed to reinforce the point, a door swung open with the force of the wind and the elf quickly shut it again. 

“Malfoy Manor says?” Harry parroted the words in bemusement, but looked up at Malfoy for an explanation. He nearly reeled back when he saw the look on Malfoy’s face. It was some sort of mix between anger and disdain. 

“It’s a centuries old magical home, Potter. If it’s decided that you aren’t going, then you aren’t going. Which I’m sure will be absolutely delightful. I’ve always wanted to share a biscuit and tea with The Boy Who Lived.” There was malice in his voice that stung, and despite all common sense, Harry found that he liked the sting of it. He was stuck here, with Malfoy of all people, and he was completely confused about how to react to that. 

“No, I think...I think I’ll be going.” He swallowed down an emotion that was almost fear. “This was clearly a mistake in the first place.” Malfoy was only looking at him with disdainful amusement now, silently daring him to try. 

“This ought to be good.” Malfoy crossed his arms over his body and watched as Harry turned to leave again. He hadn’t made it passed the threshold when water poured down on him, soaking him to the bone. He let out a startled yell and the elf once again came and hurriedly shut the door behind him. 

“I did say that it was wet outside; I did say that Mr. Potter must stay. I did tell Mr. Potter that he wasn’t to go, you see, for his safety.” She spoke very quickly, and Harry was too busy shaking himself to really listen to the ramblings of an elf. 

“That will be enough, Epsibah,” Malfoy said, his lips turned up in a smirk the same taunting laughter that Harry had heard so many times before now coming from his chest. “Think you can outsmart a house nearly fifteen times your age? You’re bloody brilliant aren’t you? Or do you just think that you’re so special that even ancient magic will bend to your will?” Harry groaned in response, taking off his wet robes and revealing a white button up and black trousers underneath. The shirt was now effectively see through. 

“I guess I’m staying.” Harry muttered, feeling rather uncomfortable in Malfoy’s home, considering their past together. It wasn’t as though a sleepover was a likely turn of events for them. Not by choice, at the very least. There was also the fact that his memories of this home ended with the death of someone he loved. He couldn’t think too much about Dobby now though, when there was a point to him being here. He’d been ready to give up, but if he were stuck here, he might as well give it a better go. “If I’m staying, can I at least enter past the foyer?” He raised an expectant eyebrow. 

“If you must,” Malfoy sighed, “Come along, now.” Malfoy gestured him in, and Harry followed him into the kitchen. Surprisingly, he offered Harry a cup of tea. “Have a drink and don’t catch a cold and get your ruddy germs all over my home, thank you.” His tone was bored, but Harry caught a hint of a smile at the very moment when Malfoy averted his eyes. “I might as well give you something to dry to wear, as well, lest you soak the damn place. Have your tea and we’ll go fetch you something.” Harry watched as Malfoy sat down across from him, seeming more casual than Harry had ever seen him. Maybe it came from being in the comfort of his own home, but Harry had to wonder if maybe some of it was deeper than that. Since his parents had been incarcerated, he suspected that Malfoy was free from abuse for the first time in his life. 

They drank their tea in near silence, only listening to the sounds of the wind and the rain outside. It was a strange sort of melancholy and peaceful that he’d never expected to find in Malfoy’s company. The rain was picking up very quickly, though Harry still thought that he could travel in it just fine. Apparition was not in any way dependent on the weather, but it seemed as if the manor had made up its mind, and he’d learned his lesson about trying to argue with it. A large flash of lightning abruptly brightened the entire room through the window, and the shutters swung themselves shut with a loud bang that made Harry jump. Malfoy laughed at his startled reaction. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Malfoy laugh like that before—as if he actually thought something was funny, rather than because he was taunting someone or being mean. It was a lovely sound, if Harry was honest with himself, but he didn’t want to linger too much on that. Pansy’s words about an emotional connection were still swirling around in his head, causing far too much confusion for him to allow himself to focus on Malfoy’s laugh. 

“I still think you should come back to Hogwarts.” Harry broached the topic for the second time as they both set their tea cups in the sink for the elf to tend to later. Malfoy began to walk out of the kitchen, leaving Harry to follow. “It’s better now. Rebuilt and full of students again. Most of the same professors, though Binns has finally decided to turn his class over to someone more corporeal.” They met eyes at that. They’d long been in agreement about the ghostly teacher, if nothing else. “You could finish your NEWTS. Pansy has been really lovely at helping people catch up.”

“Oh, has she?” Malfoy scoffed. “What a joke.” 

Harry’s eyes went wide as they entered what was very obviously Malfoy’s bedroom. It was more lavish and luxurious than anything he had ever seen. There was an overwhelming amount of space, and dead in the center was a four poster bed that was bigger on its own than any room Harry’d ever had. “It’s not a joke,” he muttered belatedly, but he had lost his train of thought, overwhelmed by the room and trying to take everything in. When Malfoy handed him a new set of clothes, he only stared at them for a moment: a Slytherin green T-shirt with a snake on the chest pocket and a pair of grey joggers.

He kept his eyes averted from Malfoy as he awkwardly began to disrobe. He’d shared dormitories with other boys for so long that changing in front of the blond should have been no big deal, and he couldn’t quite understand why he felt so awkward about it. It seemed to be a shared feeling though, as Malfoy didn’t quite look like he was breathing. Harry’s shirt was the first thing to come off, wet material peeling stickily from his damp, tanned skin. He’d toned up quite a bit over the course of the last year;his chest was now defined and athletic where it had once been bony and pale. Harry wasn’t watching Malfoy, but if he had been, he’d have seen him noticing every detail. 

When Harry did look back up at Malfoy, the only sign of his interest was a slight reddening of his usually alabaster cheeks. Neither of them mentioned it, and Harry continued to change. The irony of wearing a Slytherin shirt was not lost on him at all, but he didn’t dare put up a fight and have Malfoy leave him in his wet clothes. When he’d finished changing, he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for some sort of serious response to what he’d been trying to say. It was clear that Malfoy knew what he was waiting for. 

“I don’t want to go back. And anyway, it’s not like people would be thrilled to have me, is it?” There was a bite in Malfoy’s voice, and he turned abruptly to walk out of the room, leaving Harry sitting awkwardly on his bed. 

“Wait a minute!” Harry called after him, quickly getting up and chasing after him. “Of course people would. I would, or I wouldn’t have come all this way, would I?” Malfoy looked at him sidelong, as if he wanted to question Harry’s reasoning. There was a flash of something in his eyes that stopped him though, and Harry thought it might have been fear. He fell in step with Malfoy, unsure of where they were going. It didn’t seem to matter, as Malfoy soon stopped and took a sharp turn the opposite direction. “Where are we going?” Harry’s confusion was palpable, but he wouldn’t allow it to distract him from his purpose. “Things are different now. People are getting along. Old animosities seem to be falling by the wayside. You could come and finish school just like the rest of us. You’d make a brilliant Auror one day, maybe. You may be annoying as hell, but you’re very clever.” Malfoy stopped walking. 

“I don’t want to be an Auror, Potter.” He scoffed at the idea. “As if they’d let someone with a Dark Mark have that sort of a title.” It was only now that Harry realized where Malfoy was leading him. They descended the stairs, down into the dungeon, which Harry was unfortunately quite familiar with. It was, in fact, one of the only parts of the house he was familiar with at all. Before he had the chance to ask why, however, Malfoy was talking again. “Do you know the things that happened here, Potter? Do you know the things that I did in this room?” Harry felt uneasy, but he shook his head.

“You did only the things you were forced to do, though. You’ve been found innocent. There’s no reason to allow anything you did to keep you from moving forward with your life.” Harry’s voice was sharp. He wanted desperately to allow it the softness he’d normally use, but he doubted that Malfoy would accept it from him. “You can’t just hide in the Manor forever.” 

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Malfoy said softly. “You know so little. I stood in this very spot while I used the Cruciatus Curse on Dean Thomas.” Malfoy looked to Harry for a reaction, finding him blank faced. “Do you think that he’d want to share a bunk with me?” He opened the cell with a key and stepped in, Harry following him. “We stood in this exact place as I watched Yaxley force himself upon Luna Lovegood. Has she ever told you that? I watched it with my very own eyes and I did nothing about it.” Malfoy’s voice was rising, becoming harsher as he numbered his own misdeeds. Harry’s stomach was completely twisting in knots, but he still tried to remain impassive. “I don’t think I have to tell you about the sound of Weasley’s screams when—” 

“I get it.” Harry’s voice had gone tight. Malfoy was right. He didn’t need to be reminded. He heard Ron’s screams in his nightmares all the time. Despite that, he didn’t blame malfoy for it. If anything, when he thought of his time as a captive, Malfoy was his saviour. He remembered the recognition in Malfoy’s eyes that night. Their faces had been so close they could feel each other’s breath, and yet, Malfoy hadn’t sold him out that night. He’d protected him instead. 

“Do you think anyone wants me back at Hogwarts with this thing on my arm?” Malfoy didn’t have to show Harry; it was clear what he was referring to. “I can’t just come back and pretend all is well and change my life and be something great,” Malfoy continued, his voice now quiet. “No one’s forgiveness extends to the things I’ve done.” Suddenly, the cell door slammed shut, startling them both. Malfoy moved to reopen it, color draining from his face in the dimly lit dungeon when nothing happened. “It won’t bloody open,” Malfoy exhaled. Harry’s breaths came very slowly as he tried to keep himself calm. Malfoy was shaking. “I can not be trapped down here,” he whispered, his voice choked. “This can’t be happening.” He sounded broken. Harry stood and watched as he moved to a corner, sliding down the brick and bringing his knees to his chest. His face was as impassive as always, but his body quivered and his breathing was ragged. 

“We’ll get it open, just take it easy for a moment,” Harry reassured him. Seeing Malfoy crumble so easily made Harry’s chest tighten in unfamiliar ways. He was one of the most stoic people Harry had ever met, and here he was losing his composure in the place where his worst trauma had occurred. Harry spent the next fifteen minutes ineffectually trying to bring the iron bars to the ground before finally giving up. 

“We used this place to hold prisoners Potter; it’s warded off every kind of magic you could possibly think of.” Malfoy’s voice was as judgmental as always, and it made Harry sigh. He finally took a seat beside Malfoy on the cold ground.

“You saved my life, but you also did a lot of really fucked up things, Malfoy,” Harry stated bluntly, returning to their earlier conversation as though they weren’t locked in a dungeon that held extremely traumatic memories for both of them. “You can’t take them back. It doesn’t do you any good to lament over them, though. Who do you think you’re helping?” He paused a moment, chewing on his lips, before going on. “Luna is brilliant with animals. She’s compassionate and kind; gentle like no one I have ever known. Sometimes I think her kindness and strength are a magic of their own. Of course, she’ll always be a little strange, but that’s just Luna.” He smiled a little bit. “Dean Thomas wants to be a Healer. He spends most of his time in the infirmary helping out...when he’s not snogging Seamus stupid on the couch in the common room, that is.” Harry didn’t know why he was telling Malfoy these things. As if they mattered. 

“Keep going.” Malfoy’s voice was small and uncertain, but the look on his face told Harry that these things were somehow exactly what he needed to hear. 

“Hermione will likely be the Minister for Magic one day. I hope Kinglsey is ready to hand it over to her eventually. She’s currently busying around the school, trying to prepare everyone from every house for our NEWTs. She’s brilliant, of course. Katie Bell stayed at Hogwarts to help out with Quidditch. She’s the assistant coach. She and Madame Hooch are a very frightening pair sometimes. Absolutely no codswallop on the field.” He looked towards Malfoy and shook his head. “Everyone’s lives are moving forward. Not allowing your own to is doing them as much of a disservice as it is you.” 

“What? How do you figure?” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed on Harry. 

“You, holing yourself up here and hating yourself for what you’ve done is only self pity. Self deprecation. Which I understand, don’t get me wrong. I kick myself hard for the choices I've made as well. I think, though, that allowing the things you did to them to hold you prisoner is like taking their traumas and making them yours. You did those things to them, Malfoy. If they’re moving on with their lives despite those things, I think it’s unfair for you to hold onto them.” Malfoy looked like he had been slapped. 

“Don’t you think doing them left me with my own trauma?” He asked harshly. Harry nodded.  
“Of course. And if you want to feel broken and beaten and defeated because of your own trauma, then that’s fair.” He turned a little more. “If it’s about your own abuse, or what was said or done to you if you didn’t do those things, or your lack of a choice—that’s valid. Those are things you have a right to be traumatized by. You were forced to make choices and to hurt people and that’s...horrible.” He looked away for a moment. “But you can’t let the pain you inflicted on someone else be the thing that holds you back forever.” 

“So I’m supposed to come and sleep in the bed next to people I tortured? You think that they want me there? That we can all just be best friends and move on like nothing happened?” He was sweating, and Harry was a bit worried that being trapped down here and having this conversation at the same time was giving him an anxiety attack he would never openly admit to. 

“A war happened. No one’s pretending it didn’t. But eventually, we all have to work through the aftermath. You as well.” Without much warning, Harry reached out and hugged Malfoy tightly. So tightly, in fact, it was more like squeezing him than hugging. He expected to be shoved off immediately, but was pleased to find that wasn’t the case. 

“What are you doing?” Malfoy was tense in Harry’s embrace, obviously uncomfortable, but Harry didn’t let go. 

“Calming your nervous system. It’s a muggle remedy for anxiety.” Neither of them said anything, but after long moments, Harry felt Malfoy’s heart beat slow. “Are you alright?” Harry asked, loosening his grip and tilting his head up. The answer shocked every muscle in his body. As his head tilted up to look at Malfoy, his embrace was broken. His arms fell to the side as Malfoy’s hand wrapped around the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss, wasting no time on pleasantries before using his tongue to part Harry’s lips open. Every fiber of Harry’s being was stunned. He was being turned and shoved up against the wall roughly before he could even think a clear thought. 

Harry kissed the other boy back almost instinctively, meeting Malfoy’s desire with the strength of his own. It felt like it had come out of nowhere;he’d never even consciously thought about kissing Malfoy before, but here he was, suddenly consumed by it. It wasn’t just the kiss either, but the intense desire to never do anything else. He wanted nothing but the feel of Malfoy’s skin under his hands and the taste of their tongues fighting for dominance. 

“What the hell, Malfoy?” he whispered between kisses. 

A breathy “Shut up,” was all that he got in return before their lips were melding together again. Malfoy’s hand at the back of Harry’s neck was curling into his skin in a bruising manner and pulling at his hair with equal vigor. His other hand hand found its way under the borrowed shirt and was gripping at Harry’s waist hard enough to leave marks there as well. Harry’s mind began to kick in, and he grabbed a fistful of Malfoy’s shirt, pushing him backwards a little to create space. Malfoy looked startled and a little bit ashamed, until he noticed Harry was pulling the shirt over his head quickly. Embarrassed grey eyes very quickly melted into lust filled silver ones, and in a flashing moment, they were entangled again. Their clothes were falling off their bodies in the flurry of movement as they kissed each other breathless. Everything was rougher and harsher with Malfoy than it had been with Ginny, and Harry found that he very much liked it. 

It took no time at all for them to both be naked, Harry pressed against the brick again. It scratched at his bare back now, and there was something about the sting of it that he didn’t mind at all. He gasped as Malfoy sunk to his knees in front of him. He hadn’t expected that. Whatever this was, he’d expected it to be quick and dirty and lack any form of foreplay. He was obviously wrong, as Malfoy wasted no time in taking Harry’s aching cock into his mouth. He was far too skilled at that, and Harry was sure it couldn’t be the first time he’d done it. A moan left Harry’s mouth and he brought his hand up to cover it, but was stopped by pale fingers clasping around his wrist.

“No one hears screams from down here.” Malfoy murmured between his movements. His voice conveyed a complicated mix of gratitude and hate, and Harry knew intimately the war of conflicting emotions waging inside him, about what they were doing, and where. Malfoy’s hand loosened from Harry’s wrist, preparing to drop it. Before he’d had a chance, Harry turned his own hand over, lacing their fingers together.

“Don’t think about it,” Harry said, his voice far thicker than normal. He reached down to pull Malfoy up, but the other boy shook his head, instead changing his angle and returning his attention to making Harry fall apart. He spread Harry’s cheeks and licked at his hole, causing Harry to let out a very loud cry of surprise. No one had ever done such a thing to him before, and it was making his legs quiver. He never wanted Malfoy to stop, but he also wanted to give as much as he got. In a show of determination, he pulled Malfoy up with force, turning them so that it was not his back against the wall instead of Harry’s. 

Harry dropped to his knees. Hesitant eyes looked up at Malfoy, who seemed, in that very moment, to realize Harry had never done this before. Harry didn’t wait for him to comment, instead licking from his balls up his shaft and flicking his tongue over Malfoy’s leaking tip. 

“Fuck,” Malfoy groaned, and Harry had to wonder if it was in real pleasure, or if the other boy was only being encouraging. It was almost an amusing thought—as if Malfoy would ever tell Harry he was good at anything he wasn’t. He repeated his motions before taking all of Malfoy in his mouth and hand, bobbing up and down and trying to find a rhythm. A hand laced through his hair and gripped tight, and he let out a wonton whine around the cock in his mouth. “Merlin, Potter—” Draco gasped, his breath ragged. With a shaking hand, Harry reached between Malfoy’s legs and let his finger trace his hole. 

For a moment, Malfoy indulged Harry this new exploration, though he stopped it before it got any further. “You wish, Potter,” He said with a soft laugh, before pulling Harry to his feet and letting his own hand slip between the other boy’s cheeks to do exactly what Harry had been about to do to him. As a finger slowly entered him, Harry gasped loudly and allowed his head to fall forward onto Malfoy’s shoulder, sucking a bruise into the skin there. 

“I’ve never...” he whispered against pale skin, following the words with a kiss to the collarbone that held far more intimacy than the moment called for. 

“I know, but you want to, don’t you?” Malfoy’s voice was silky and seductive, lending Harry far more confidence than he actually had when he agreed. Once again they switched positions, Harry’s back to the brick. When Malfoy finally pushed his length inside of him, pulling Harry’s leg up around his waist to give himself easier access, Harry let out a muffled groan of pain, burying his face in the crook of his newfound lover’s neck. Malfoy’s hand stroked the back of Harry’s head affectionately, but he gave no real time for Harry to settle before he was thrusting into him with vigor. Harry’s back scratched against the wall with each pounding thrust. 

It was so incredibly strange. The sex was so rough; it would no doubt leave brusies and cuts all over Harry’s body. Yet it was also full of gentle kisses to skin, whispered expletives, and soft hands. For as rough as it was, Harry was fairly sure it was as close to ‘I love you’ as the two of them could get. When they both came, they did so together and shuddering; crumpling to the floor in a mass of entangled arms. Long minutes passed, broken only by the sound of their harsh breathing and the old creaking of the house around them. 

“What just happened?” Harry asked finally, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy. They were still holding hands, neither of them making any move to let go. Harry rolled onto his side to better look at Malfoy. His eyes were on his chest, the scars that reminded him so vividly of their past. Harry was filled with regret, and he leaned forward and pressed one gentle kiss to the top of Malfoy’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Malfoy replied, sounding a bit stunned. He hadn’t noticed Harry’s mind wandering. He was still panting and out of breath. “But I’ll come back if you can calm me like that every time I get mentally fucked,” he added, his voice turning wryly amused. When he looked at Harry again, it was with an actual smile. 

They spent the rest of the night in much the same fashion, kissing and fucking in turn until finally the house seemed to decide to cut them a break. Without any further discussion of trauma or forgiveness, Harry helped Malfoy pack his trunk that morning, and after breakfast, they Apparated back to Hogwarts together. Pansy threw herself at her best friend as they entered the common room, shooting an altogether too knowing glance at Harry. She had surprise written on her face too, though, and Harry wondered what had gotten her looking that way, especially if she’d suspected that Harry would bring Malfoy back all along. Her surprise gave way to amusement as Harry saw her discreetly run her thumb over a bruise on Malfoy’s neck. Harry chewed his lip awkwardly, knowing that Pansy was far more intuitive, and clever, than he ever gave her credit for. 

When no one was looking, Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Malfoy looked over his shoulder and nodded at Harry, who walked away, giving him a moment with Pansy. They would talk again later, and for the first time, Harry was desperately excited for their next interaction.

“Harry…” Ron’s voice cut through Harry’s inner thoughts. 

“Yeah?” he responded, trying to sound casual.

Ron let out an uncomfortable cough. “You uh… your shirt says Malfoy on the back.” He raised an eyebrow. “The last I checked, people only wear someone else’s name on their back if they’re… you know....involved.” Harry’s face went red and he looked down at the Slytherin T-shirt. 

He shrugged in response, not knowing what to say. While they hadn’t discussed anything serious, he sort of hoped that it was implied. Across the room, Malfoy was looking at him with a smile, and Harry thought that maybe they were on the same page about this. 

He wore the shirt for the rest of the day.


End file.
